


Handwriting on Old Parchment

by LydiaLanguish



Series: Love Letters [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anonymity, F/M, Good Draco Malfoy, Love Letters, M/M, One-Sided Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Pining, Sad and Happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-29 03:51:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18217811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaLanguish/pseuds/LydiaLanguish
Summary: Harry receives anonymous love letters that have more to do with his life than he realizes.





	Handwriting on Old Parchment

_Harry_

 

_My hands shake as I write this._

 

_It's hardly a confession, a hurried letter like this, but I need to declare myself to someone, even if it's you, even if you'll never know it's me._

 

_I've found myself in the unfortunate position of becoming increasingly obsessed with you. I stare over the table but you never see me. I say your name every chance I get because it's the sweetest name I've ever had the pleasure of tasting._

 

_Harry_

 

_Just writing it fills me with butterflies, ones that I know will never be free._

 

_Harry_

 

_I love your passion. The green in your eyes only intensifies when you get angry. A hunger for justice and a wild spirit has never looked better on anyone._

 

_I must stop writing, before anyone catches me. I'll send the letter if I find myself brave enough._

 

_Don't think of this as a confession. I have nothing to confess._

 

_But you're absolutely maddening._

 

Harry had no idea who had sent that letter, but it was the first of many.

 

Too many.

 

And sometimes the letters had more useful purposes than declaring infatuation. A few of them had told him things he'd needed to be careful over, or answers to tests he wouldn't have gotten otherwise.

 

He had no clue who had sent them. Each time it pointed out something that Harry did that this person apparently found wonderful. The only people who knew about the letters were Ron and Hermione, but neither had any real clue to go off of. Any time they had an idea, a letter would come to prove the theory incorrect.

 

_Harry_

 

_You make me sad._

 

_This letter is a confession, I admit, but your making me sad has nothing to do with affection I know I haven't earned._

 

_You were born, destined for the life that greets you so coldly. It's not fair that a simple child had been hunted like you had been. It's not fair that you still find yourself the target of discrimination, violence, and malice._

 

_Sure, you have a temper, and have a tendency to shout out curses without knowing what they are, and you don't do as well academically as I know you can._

 

_You're very smart, by the way. If you spent more of your focus and energy on your schooling, you'd almost be as smart as Granger._

 

_But my point is, you've done nothing to earn the serving you've got in life. If I could trade my plenty for your misfortune, I'd not hesitate._

 

_You see, I know how it feels to have a harsh destiny. Mine not noble or worthy like yours, but harsh all the same. If I had your goodness or your bravery, I might find myself with another destiny._

 

_I could only wish._

 

After reading _that_ letter, that came in during their fifth year, Hermione declared she'd figured out who the mystery was, but she refused to tell him because it was their right to keep their own secrets.

 

Harry wished it was Cho, back then, but that theory had been disputed, and after he'd started hoping them to be Ginny, she started dating Dean.

 

...Not to mention, Hermione had promised him it hadn't been her.

 

_Harry_

 

_I'm sorry._

 

_Please believe that I'm truly sorry. I know you like her, and I know she's with another. I know it hurts._

 

_But I think she likes you, too._

 

_I've seen enough in my life to know these things, you see, and I believe that she likes you, and this relationship isn't lasting. I give them two months, tops. After then, Harry, please go after her._

 

_You have a real chance in your love, and happiness and good things are too rare for someone of your integrity._

 

_I admit I don't like her, but I'm just handwriting on old parchment, too cowardly to use my own seal, don't listen to who or what I like, not when it comes to your happiness._

 

_But I digress. Love freely and be brave. And patient, that one is important._

 

Harry read that one over and over before showing it to Hermione. (He'd decided against showing Ron.)

 

Whoever his secret admirer was, not only _knew_ he'd been into Ginny, but apologized for his being sad and had encouraged him to pursue her. That just left him _very_ confused.

 

But Harry gently pointed out to Hermione that she should listen to the letter, too.

 

But that was the only letter Harry had gotten for the majority of sixth year. He missed them, but at the same time, he took heart thinking whoever was behind the letters had finally left him behind in pursuit of someone else.

 

Until a startling letter.

 

_Harry_

 

_I can't write this_

 

_This is the end of who I've been_

 

_I can't follow my destiny anymore_

 

_It's turned into even more than my cowardice can take_

 

 ~~_I love_ ~~ _I love you_

 

_I feel sick having admitted it. I can't hurt you like they want me to. You may never see me again. This could be the last letter you ever receive from me. I might be killed._

 

 _Please, Harry please, for my sake, do not grieve for me if I'm discovered. I've not earned your regard in any sense. Hate me._ _Hate me_ _._

 

_You have no blood on your hands, not mine or anyone else's. All blame falls on the dark Lord, and people like me._

 

_Harry_

 

_I love you._

 

Panicked, Harry showed Ron and Hermione as soon as he'd read it.

 

“Harry,” Hermione said with a sympathetic frown, shaking her head. “...I'll try and do something, make sure this person is okay, but… If this is their decision, honestly, I can't blame them.”

 

Harry hadn't been expecting that…

 

When no other letters came, he'd expected whoever wrote those letters died like they'd suggested they might.

 

That hurt him. He knew they'd asked him to not be hurt, but he was. Whoever this person was let themselves be killed. For _Harry._

 

And he couldn't even grieve them. As they'd said before, they were only handwriting on old parchment.

 

There was never another letter.

 

And then Dumbledore died, Hogwarts was taken by the Death-eaters.

 

The letters seemed to be a thing of the past.

 

Until eighth year, most of the students who'd fought in the war had taken another year to finish their academics.

 

Hermione was telling them that she was happy Draco was there, especially because in sixth year, he'd betrayed his family and joined Dumbledore before he had been killed.

 

And she was pointedly looking at him, but he couldn't figure out why. Honestly.

 

He was with Ginny now, which was amazing, and he'd told her about the letters, not feeling bad about her reading them when she asked, either.

 

But Hermione wasn't all that approving of his sharing them with Ginny. “I'm very happy for you both,” She sighed. “I'm glad you're together. But… I can't help but think about those letters.

 

Ginny had asked Harry if he ever knew who sent them. He didn't.

 

She asked if they were still alive. He asked Hermione. They were.

 

But it was over.

 

It was a relief. Whoever wrote those letters made it clear they expected nothing, and never made Harry feel guilty over not reciprocating, but he was happy for whoever had loved him. Maybe they were finally over it.

 

...But, Draco sat in front of Harry in Defense Against the Dark Arts during eighth year, and Harry, not knowing the answer to a question, glanced down at Draco’s parchment and was startled by his immediate recognition of the handwriting.

 

The handwriting on old parchment.

 

“It was Draco, wasn't it?” Harry demanded of Hermione that day during lunch, knowing he was right at the surprised look on her face.

 

“He told you?” She asked with wide eyes.

 

“No, I figured it out,” Harry said, feeling confused, and upset, and off-balance. “But it couldn't be… But it is. How- Hermione, how'd you keep _that_ from me? How'd you know? What… What did he _mean_ by all that? I… It wasn't him. How did you know it was him?”

 

“Harry, he called me ‘Granger,’” Hermione pointed out. “He wrote that you made it increasingly hard to play quidditch and blamed you for losses, _and_ talked about being destined to fight in a war he didn't want, he decided he couldn't hurt you, and right after that, it was revealed that Draco denied his father and joined Dumbledore. Harry, it was painfully obvious.”

 

“No, it really wasn't,” Ron shook his head, looking as startled as Harry felt.

 

“Ugh, you two are such idiots,” Hermione shook her head.

 

With that knowledge, after classes, Harry went back to his room and pulled out the box he'd kept the letters in.

 

Of course he kept them all.

 

Rereading them, seeing Draco became painfully easy. It almost hurt Harry even more, knowing who was behind the handwriting.

 

But after knowing, it was easier to put the letters behind him. He felt like he could give his whole self to Ginny without wondering anymore if whoever wrote the letters would be waiting.

 

It was Draco, he wouldn't be.

 

They were happy, he and Ginny, and he received a congratulatory letter, in the same handwriting and anonymity Draco had always used, on announcing his engagement.

 

There was a little present wrapped in red and gold at their wedding, a tag that read, ‘to Harry and Ginny’ containing a magic camera and an empty scrapbook.

 

When they had their first kid, Draco sent them (again, anonymously,) an assortment of baby books. They looked used, but overall in good condition.

 

Their second child received an assortment of used (but again well tended) baby toys, and as they aged, the gifts just continued.

 

Draco never married, and had become quite generous. Anything of his father's fortune was given away to any worthy cause, but rich he continued to be as he worked very hard. His father's house had become something of a safe house to people hurt most by the war, and he became one of the best loved members of the community before becoming the potions professor at Hogwarts.

 

They'd both gotten their happy endings, Harry thought. But he never saw Draco again. Sometimes they'd both be out and he'd try and talk to the man, but Draco always managed to slip away before Harry could force an encounter.

 

Things were really, finally over for them both.

Draco died at the early age of forty three, and a day later, Pansy Parkinson came knocking on Harry’s door with puffy eyes and a letter sealed with Draco’s wax seal. She told him she'd promised to deliver it.

 

_Harry_

 

_This is the last time you'll ever hear from me. It was always you. You've no doubt figured who it was who sent all those letters when we were children. I told you, you're actually very smart._

 

_The first thing I ever said was that my letter wasn't a confession. I said that because I didn't want you to feel guilty. See, this is a confession. This is my last chance to be known, even if it's only to you._

 

_That will be enough._

 

_I was very hurt. I knew you would never love me, and I accepted it. Even after I made my decision to change, I knew it wouldn't change me in your eyes. You loved Ginny. I was happy for you, but only because I knew you'd never feel the despair that I had grown up with._

 

_I gave you everything I could think to. I made the world a better place for you and your family, I sent you anything I thought you needed, things that used to be mine. I knew I'd never make use of them after all._

 

_Dumbledore knew I loved you. He was kind and understanding, and I miss him. You were good to give your child his name._

 

_I never stopped loving my family. I wished on stars that they'd change, but it was too late eventually._

 

_I almost left so many times. I almost went to live with the muggles at least six times a year. Anything to get away from you._

 

_But I could never leave._

 

_Hermione Granger confronted me in sixth year. She promised to never tell you who had written those letters, but also tried to talk me out of you so many times, but I never could. I tried, believe me._

 

_I asked you to hate me. Do you remember? Part of me still wants you to. The selfish part of me always wanted to get a letter from you, saying you loved me, too. It never came._

 

_I'm sick, Harry. No one but Pansy and Theodore know, but I'm sick and dying. That's why I'm writing this now, after everything. As before, I ask that you don't grieve for me._

 

_With my last words in this world, I'll tell you one last time._

 

_I love you._

 

_-Draco Malfoy_

 

Harry grieved, though he'd been asked not to. He spoke at Draco's funeral.

 

Afterward, Pansy approached him, still crying. “Did he tell you?” She sniffed.

 

“Yeah,” Harry admitted. “I'm sorry, Pansy. ...I'm sorry.”

 

“Don't,” She shook her head. “You saved him.” She put her arms around Harry in a hug, crying into his shoulder for a few seconds before pulling away. “Did you love him, too?” She held her hand up before Harry could stutter out an answer. “Not like he loved you, but like you love your friends.”

 

“I did,” Harry looked down. “He hadn't let me get close enough to him to tell him.”

 

“It was better this way,” Pansy said despairingly. “...He was happy. He'd want you to know that.”

 

Harry nodded, swallowing down a lump in his throat. “Thank you,” He smiled sadly.

 

He went home, and Ginny was waiting for him.

 

They had both gotten their happy ending.


End file.
